Devil's Cry
by legal-drug
Summary: Grau returns once again, this time it's Farfarello who's decisions must change in order to accomodate the way he sees his world now and the way he wants to see it in the future...
1. Chapter 1

Devils Cry

Dom-sama

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz characters….just my own original ones (Grau)

Prologue

Farfarello awoke that morning strapped into his straight jacket, hanging from the ceiling. It was still early, only about three a.m. He was having an uncontrollable outburst. He began screaming, and screaming, until his throat was raw. He swung his weight around so that he began swinging in circles.

The door to his cell began to open. Taking a deep, stinging breath, he began screaming again, even louder now that someone was there to here it. Crawford walked into Farfarello's cell, wearing a pair of sweat pants only. He grabbed Farfarello's jacket by the shoulder to stop him from swinging. Farfarello turned his head and bit down on the tender flesh of Crawford's hand. "Damn it, Farfarello!" Crawford yelled, pulling his hand away from the Irishman.

Farfarello smiled a crooked smile, which was even creepier when he was upside down. He began to sway back and forth gently. Taking in another painful, deep breath he opened his mouth to let out another deafening scream. Crawford grimaced and pulled back his fist and threw it into Farfarello's face.

Farfarello, who felt no pain, smiled as he swung back and forth. Each time getting a little further away from the American. Once again, Crawford smashed his fist into the psychopath's face. He repeated this six more times before the Irishman blacked out. Before he did he said, "I want to leave." Crawford paid no heed to the Irishman's words. With the Berserker quieted, he went back to bed himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kreuz. Another adventure for Grau, which I do own, rights to.

Farfarello had regained consciousness several hours after Crawford thoroughly put him under. He'd dreamt during the forced slumber. It was about a girl, a girl he had never seen or met. Her hair was long and brown, he remembered, her eyes were hazel. She wasn't tall, but not short, either. In this dream she had been running, running to him. Why? There were guns being shot at them. He didn't know what was going on. "Only a dream," he said to himself.

"Hey," he started yelling. "Someone release me from this vial contraption!"

Scheldich walked in, "Morning, Farf. You slept well?"

"I had a strange dream," Farfarello said, looking up to the German who looked upside down to turned over assassin.

Scheldich cocked an orange brow, "Really? Tell me about…"

"Could you get me down first?"

"Yeah," Scheldich said, he took hold of the lock that kept Farfarello enclosed in his jacket and secured to the padded ceiling. Released Farfarello's ankles, he caught the Irishmen before he hit the floor. "Okay, you're down. Tell me."

Farfarello sat down on his bed. "There was a girl," he started to say.

"Oh my, little Farfarello's growing up," Scheldich said, faking tears in his eyes.

"Shut up. It was nothing that you would dream of," Farfarello snapped.

"Oh," Scheldich shrugged and looked disappointed. "Well, tell me anyway, I guess."

"She was running," Farfarello began again before he was interrupter by the German.

"Running? From what?"

"Someone was shooting at us."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I didn't understand any of it, really."

"Was she hot?" the German asked, a twinkle in his green eyes.

Farfarello just shrugged, as close to a shrug as he could, it's not easy to do in a straight jacket.

"Farf, either she was or she wasn't," Scheldich encouraged.

"Okay then," Farfarello said. "She was."

"That's good," Scheldich said. "But you still have no idea who she was or why people were shooting at you?"

"Nope, no idea at all," the Irishman replied.

"Maybe it'll happen in the future," Scheldich offered. "Maybe it was a premonition. Like you're psychic or something."

"Scheldich, I am psychotic not psychic," Farfarello said. "Do you understand? Psycho not psychic?" Farfarello repeated slowly as if he were speaking to a young child.

"Shut up," Scheldich barked. "I'm not a child," he laughed. "You don't have spell things out for me."

"Yet you still act as though you are seven years old."

"No," Scheldich said taking a stand. "I believe I act very grown up. It's you who acts as though he were four years old," the German laughed.

"I'm skitzo, I'm allowed to act immature and no one would think anything of it. It's in the job description." Farfarello commented.

"Yeah, well, you hold that well," Scheldich teased.

"Yes, I do. Don't I?"

"Yeah, you do."

The two Schwarz began chuckling.

"Hey, you two," Crawford said, he poked his head in the doorway. "We have a mission."

"Yeah, okay," Scheldich said, he turned to help Farfarello from the jacket. Farfarello turned and exposed his back to the older man. Scheldich undid the straps confining the Irishmen to the material and threw it on the bed. The two followed Crawford up the stairs and met with Nagi before heading outside to Crawford's car. Crawford started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

"So what's the job?" Scheldich asked, as he stretched in the passenger seat.

"A man named Kohlson is going to be at the gentlemen's club on Mitoko Avenue," Crawford said.

"So do we take him out and go home?" the German asked.

"Yes, but there's a couple of obstacles that we'll have to take care of as well." Crawford said, his eyes watching the road carefully.

"Like what?" Nagi asked.

"Ninjas?" Scheldich asked and made the stereotypical praying mantis pose.

"Exactly," Crawford replied as he turned a corner.

"What?" the three younger assassins exclaimed.

"Yes, ninjas," Crawford said. "This man has teenagers that he finds living on the streets, gets professional fighters to train them in assassination and martial arts." The American waited for their next reactions.

"How many?" Nagi asked.

"At least five," Crawford said.

"Do they have any psychic powers?" Nagi asked, looking around the driver's seat.

"I do not know. There was nothing on them, really. I doubt they'll be much of a threat to the mission though." Crawford said.

"You had a vision?" Nagi asked.

"Common sense," the American replied.

The three younger assassins exchanged semi-confident looks.


End file.
